Frost on Flowers
by ColoradoMFC
Summary: Neal is bored in Washington, D.C. and Reid needs help with a family mystery. Trouble ensues. How will Hotch and Peter deal with them?  *Fair warning*: Spanking of an adult. One-shot  but a long one. Part 2 titled: An Excellent Example of Being Human.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a one-shot, but it turned out MUCH longer than originally planned.**

**Reid gets a mysterious package from his mother, and no one's around to help him figure it out – until he meets Neal Caffery.**

**Peter has to go to a conference in Washington, D.C. and takes Neal along, but he doesn't consider what could happen if Neal gets bored. **

**I do not own, rent or lease Criminal Minds or White Collar or any of the characters.**

**Please enjoy. **

**XOXOXOXOXO**

The two young men sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the hard wooden chairs. The younger man, an experienced F.B.I. agent, played nervously with his hands and looked as contrite as he felt. The other man, slightly older and an ex-con currently employed as a consultant for the F.B.I., looked around the senior agent's office with a calm, self-possessed air he did not feel. Neal Caffrey knew an innocent appearance alone could diffuse most of the difficult situations in which he found himself. Letting his gaze slide over to his new friend, it was more than obvious Doctor Spencer Reid had not yet learned this. Neal gave the younger man a hard look, which did nothing to cease the fidgeting.

Reid's direct supervisor, sitting on the other side of the desk, was not helping the tension he felt either. This man was far more than simply Reid's boss; he was also his mentor and sometimes a big brother. The youngest member of his team, in fact the youngest member of the F.B.I., too often found himself in deeper trouble than a young man should be expected to handle on his own. Agent Aaron Hotchner, affectionately known as Hotch to his team, took the guidance of this young man very seriously. Too seriously for Reid's comfort at times. The young agent squirmed under the hawk-like gaze Hotch was shooting him.

Taking in the unspoken conversation these men were having, Neal risked a glance up at his own supervisor/keeper/friend/big brother who was pacing the office, hands on his hips, obviously trying to decide if he would wait until they got home to strangle him, or if he should just take care of that inevitable task now. If Neal ever allowed himself to squirm, he was sure he would be doing so now. Peter Burke in pacing mode was never a good omen for Neal's immediate future. He took a couple of deep, yet discreet, calming breaths before responding to the questions for which the two older agents were demanding answers.

Opening his mouth to begin, he only got as far as, "We were only –" when he was silenced by Peter's open palm held up in a 'stop' signal, and a sharp, "No!" Neal stopped and inwardly flinched. He had learned long ago that offering lame excuses for his actions never worked on Peter the way it did on so many others in the past. He would have to approach this from the direction of reducing negative impact and increasing possible opportunities.

Before Neal was able to form his next thoughts, Hotch broke the silence, "Why don't you start from the beginning?" He was talking to Reid, but Neal looked up startled by the calm, almost gentle tone, of this agent he had only recently met. If they had been in the other agent's office, the frustration would be pouring out of Peter in the form of chastisement and threats. Neal thought Agent Hotchner might be a person he could work with. Reid was not fooled. He was more than familiar with Hotch in this mood. He would seem calm, friendly and open, but it was all in an attempt to get at the truth before he lowered the boom. Hotch was possibly the best profiler working today, and Reid at least knew they did not stand a chance of escaping punishment.

Reid and Neal took turns explaining what had happened over the last 30 hours:

XOXOXOXOXO

***72 hours prior . . . ***

"Come on, Peter. Take me with you. I haven't been out of New York since I got out of prison." Neal whined, though begging rarely worked in these situations. He switched tactics. Maybe a little guilt trip would do the trick. "I think I've earned it, don't you? I've done everything you've asked since I started working with you." Peter scoffed, but let the younger man continue. "You'll be presenting on some of the cases we've worked on together, right? If I'm there, I can add another perspective." He paused letting the idea of taking him to Washington D.C. percolate in Peter's mind. He could see he was finally beginning to wear him down. Neal had also taken an extra precaution by presenting his case in the presence of Peter's wife, Elizabeth. She would be on his side – probably.

Neal of course was unaware that Peter was already planning on taking him to D.C. – as long as he behaved himself until then. He slid his glance over to his wife. They held their serious visages as long as they could, but soon broke into smiles. Neal knew something was up now. His eyes tightened as he looked from one Burke to the other and back again.

Suspiciously, Neal asked, "What's going on?" 

Displaying the two train tickets he had purchased earlier in the week, Peter answered, "Go home and pack. I'll pick you up in the morning. 5am sharp."

Neal's face lit up, "Thank you, Peter!" He turned to Elizabeth, and giving her a quick peck on the cheek, thanked her as well. Most likely it had been her idea in the first place that Peter take Neal with him. Neal scuttled toward the front door as excited as a bird of paradise during mating season.

Before he could open the door, Peter stopped him, "Neal." The familiar warning held in that one word made the younger man turn automatically back to face his friend. Peter, using one pontificating finger to make his point, said, "Any trouble while we're in DC and you won't leave New York again until you get that tracking anklet off. Got it?"

Neal nodded his head while his eyes went wide, lending him his habitual expression of innocence. "I promise, Peter. No trouble." He backed quickly out the door before he could be further admonished.

XOXOXOXOXO

***14 hours after that . . .***

The B.A.U. was quiet today. Emily and Morgan had taken the rest of the week off to avoid the chaos visited upon the bureau this time each year. Hotch and Rossi were preparing for their individual presentations to the visiting F.B.I directors and supervisors who were currently descending on Washington D.C. in anticipation of the annual three-day conference. Reid had been asked to stay on to lend his knowledge and support to his superiors, which he gladly did. Outside of work, despite Morgan's constant prodding, the young, awkward agent did not engage in much social contact. Penelope Garcia also continued to occupy her technological grotto, lending support to other teams currently working in the field.

Reid passed the morning quietly at his desk catching up with his paperwork, researching lesser known serial killers, and drinking far too much coffee. At noon he wandered down to the lobby. It was filled with visiting F.B.I. agents checking in and getting directions to the different conference rooms. The young agent decided to wander up the street to a small deli to find lunch. Returning an hour later, he waited with a large group to enter the elevator. In front of him were an agent and another man too young and too well dressed to be here for the conference. Their conversation supported Reid's theory.

"Come on, Peter. A discussion on the rate of homicide in the Great Plains? You couldn't find something a little more intriguing to sit though?"

"Neal, it's only two hours, and then we'll go to the Smithsonian."

The younger man stared at the older with wide eyes, "Two hours? Peter!"

Behind them, Reid suppressed a grin. He would not want to sit through that lecture either. Director Johnston was giving it, and there was no slower, more redundant speaker than that man.

Neal was silenced by the cold glare of his companion. Following Peter onto the elevator, he sighed, but continued to search for a way out of this torturous two hours.

As the elevator stopped at Reid's floor, he was surprised to find so many agents disembarking with him. He had not realized any of the lectures were scheduled for the conference rooms on this floor today. The pair he had eavesdropped on in the lobby was among these conference goers. Reid walked confidently forward to his desk as the mob meandered about getting their bearings. Eventually, they figured out the room they needed was down the hall to the right. Continuing to keep one eye on the confusion outside the bullpen, Reid thought he glimpsed the younger, out-of-place, man palm a handful of hard candy from the bowl Garcia always maintained there during these conferences. She liked to make everyone feel welcome.

As they disappeared down the hall, Reid turned his attention to his mail. It was always delivered during the lunch hour, though generally if he received anything it was a letter from his mother. Today, there was a small package wrapped in brown paper waiting for him. He was surprised to find it was indeed from his mother. She rarely sent him packages of any kind. Cautiously, he opened it. He didn't know why he should feel nervous about this, but his mother's gifts rarely made sense. As he eased off the packing tape, he thought back to the last gift: A small glass figurine of an ostrich. She said it reminded her of him, but she hadn't bothered to explain what she meant by that.

The package contained a small, ornately carved cherry wood box. At least it looked like a box. Try as he might, the genius mind of Dr. Spencer Reid could not figure out how to open it. Turning it upside down, he found an oddly shaped notch in the wood that seemed vaguely familiar. He stared at it trying to remember where he had seen this pattern before. His eidetic memory rarely failed him unless what he was trying to recall was placed around the time of his parents' separation when he was ten-years-old. He still had nearly perfect recall of anything he had ever read, but memories of his experiences at that time were sometimes a bit blurry.

Continuing to rack his brain for clues, Reid was distracted by the unmistakable sound of someone being chewed out. He looked up to find that same pair from earlier. The older man had the younger by the elbow and was angrily ushering him to a small waiting area near the elevators. Though he was being thoroughly chastised by the older man, the younger man seemed almost pleased with himself when he knew his companion could not see his face.

Approaching the chairs, the older man finished his torrent, "You will sit here until this seminar is over. You will not move from this chair." Reid was astonished to see him actually handcuff the younger man to the chair. "Do not pick that lock."

It was only then that the younger man's composure fluctuated to one of indignant affront. As he opened his mouth to speak, the older man raised one meaningful finger and gave him a hard look. The younger man clamped his mouth shut out of what was clearly self-preservation.

The older man finished with, "when I am done in there, we will finish this discussion." The young man produced the appearance of a long-suffering teenager under his parent's unrealistic rule, but he was clearly smart enough not to say anything further. The older man stalked back to the conference room leaving the other alone and clearly bored.

Curiosity got the better of him. Reid glanced up in the direction of Hotch and Rossi's offices. Their doors had been closed all day, and they showed no sign of needing Reid's help at the moment, so he decided to investigate the interesting exchange a little further. Opening the glass door that separated the bullpen from the waiting area, Reid in his unthreatening way said, "hey."

The handcuffed man looked up and, happy for any distraction at the moment, replied with an easy smile, "hey." The young F.B.I agent approached him, but clearly did not know how to proceed. The man in the chair rescued him by extending his cuff-free hand in greeting, saying, "My name's Neal Caffrey."

Awkwardly, the young agent shook the proffered hand and responded, "I'm Reid . . . errm, Spencer . . . uhh . . . Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid." He wondered why he could never introduce himself properly, "just Reid," he finished weakly.

Neal was amused by the likable young man's bumbling. He also thought he might be able to use his new acquaintance to escape his current prison of boredom. "Nice to meet you, Reid. What've you got there?" he asked indicating the wooden box in Reid's hand.

Puzzled, Reid looked at his hand. He had not realized he was still carrying the box. Holding it up so Neal could get a better look, he said, "It just came in the mail. I think it's a box, but I can't figure out how to open it."

"May I see?" Neal held his hand out.

Reid was hesitant to hand it over to the stranger. He felt like he could trust him for some inexplicable reason, but still he had been handcuffed by a federal agent. In the end though, he realized Neal could not run off with the box, so there couldn't be any harm in letting him see it.

Neal closely admired the intricate carvings, running his fingers over them. In fact he ran his fingers over the entire box feeling for a hidden latch. He was particularly interested in the odd notch underneath and spent several minutes prodding and studying it.

Reid watched with interest the obviously experienced inspection. He found himself sitting in the chair next to Neal, leaning eagerly forward, hoping for a revelation.

Sadly, Neal was unable to open the box, but he did have an idea. Indicating the notch, he said, "It looks like you need a key to open it. Did it come with anything else?"

Reid shook his head, "No, just the box."

Neal thought a moment, and then said, "It's old. I'd say 1920's or 30's maybe. Do you know who it came from?"

Bashfully, the younger man admitted, "From my mom." He did not want to discuss his mother with a stranger, so he changed the subject quickly, "The shape of this notch reminds me of something, but I can't quite remember what it is." The two men stared at the box another minute before Reid realized he had forgotten to ask Neal what was going on earlier. "Hey, why was that agent with you so angry? And why did he handcuff you to the chair?"

Neal's attention was still on the small box, but he absentmindedly answered, "That was Peter. He's my keeper. And I might have dropped a handful of hard candy on the tile floor just as the old guy started giving his speech." Reid gave the older man a quizzical look which broke Neal's concentration. He explained further by lifting the leg of his slacks slightly to reveal the tracking anklet he had been burdened with since he was released from prison and into Peter's custody. "I'm a consultant on white collar crimes."

Neal watched as the realization of what he really was registered on the younger man's face. He resigned himself to losing his company soon, as that was the usual next step after people found out. He was surprised when Reid leaned in and eagerly whispered, "What were you convicted of?"

The two men spent the rest of the two hours discussing crimes they had either witnessed (Reid) or participated in (Neal) – though the latter was extremely careful never to place himself in any of his stories.

When Peter approached, he found these two young men in the middle of an animated conversation about bond forgery. "Who's this?" he asked his charge.

Neal looked up at his friend surprised two hours had already passed. "Peter. This is Dr. Spencer Reid with the B.A.U. Reid. Meet Peter Burke with White Collar Crimes in New York."

They exchanged pleasantries, then Peter turned to Neal, "Ready to go?" he asked, removing the handcuffs.

Immediately suspicious, Neal asked, "Where are we going?" He was fairly certain Peter had not forgotten the scene he had made earlier in front of Peter's colleagues.

"We're not going anywhere. I'm putting you in a cab back to the hotel as soon as I can find an agent to keep an eye on you while I attend a few more seminars."

Neal stood face-to-face with Peter now, trying to convince the agent not to send him away. He would be unbearably bored alone in a hotel room. "Peter, you promised we would go to the Smithsonian now," he quietly begged.

Peter raised his eyebrows and said point blank, "you should have thought about that before doing your impersonation of the candy man in there."

"I know Peter, and I'm sorry. Hey, how about I go clean it up, then we go to the Smithsonian? I'll even apologize to Agent Johnston. Where is he? . . . " Neal continued trying to convince Peter not to send him back to the hotel.

While Reid watched this transaction, he saw Peter look at his watch. This jolted his memory enough to remind him of the bizarre pocket watch his mother had given him soon after his father left them. All he knew about it was that it had been his great-grandfather's. It was an impractical design though, with oddly shaped, seemingly useless, knobs sticking out at all angles. He had considered getting rid of it at one time, but his mother emphatically insisted it was important he keep it safe. Reid kept it in a safety deposit box nearby, though he had always suspected this was just another of his mother's paranoid delusions. Now, however, he thought perhaps one of the knobs on the watch might match the notch on the box she had sent. Why hadn't his mother said anything when she sent it? Was this a game she was playing? That didn't seem like her. It occurred to Reid that Neal, with his knowledge of antiquities, might be of some help with this mystery. As the two men continued to argue, he interjected, "I can watch him."

Neal and Peter immediately stopped and stared at the innocent-looking young man they had forgotten was still sitting beside them. Neal's face lit up, but Peter shut them both down with, "No. No way. Sorry kid, but you don't have any idea what you're up against with this guy." He jerked a thumb in Neal's direction. Neal responded with a hurt look of virtuousness.

Reid stood to try to reason with the older agent, but Neal stepped in first, "come on, Peter. What trouble can I get into? This is 11000 Wilshire Boulevard. I'm surrounded by the best F.B.I. agents in the world."

Peter gave him a skeptical look, but he had to admit sending Neal off to be bored and alone was a far greater risk to take. "Fine. But you stay put." Handing a business card to Reid, he warned, "Keep a close eye on him. If he disappears on you, call me immediately. Got it?"

Reid hesitantly took the card, "Yes, sir." Glancing quickly in Neal's direction, he wondered if he should re-evaluate his decision to take on this responsibility. Neal flashed him a sincere smile, and he suddenly felt confident that everything would be fine.

Peter turned his attention back to his ward, "Neal, it's 2:15. Meet me in the lobby at 5:30 sharp." As he walked off to his next lecture, he admonished, "behave yourself."

Neal rolled his eyes, then noticed Reid was looking very serious all of a sudden, "don't worry. I won't run off on you. I wouldn't get far anyway." He smiled.

Seeming not to notice, the younger man, indicating the wooden box, said, "I think I know where the key is." At Neal's inquisitive look, Reid headed into the bullpen indicating that Neal should follow, "My mom gave me a watch years ago that I think will fit." He grabbed his jacket, and then hesitated, "Is it going to be okay if you come with me to the bank?"

Neal shrugged, "as long as I'm back by 5:30, there shouldn't be a problem." Punctuating with a grin, he finished with, "Let's go."

Reid didn't need to worry about Hotch or Rossi missing him. Their doors had been closed all day, and if they needed him, he was only a phone call away. He did worry that he suddenly found himself "in charge" of an ex-con. Being the youngest member of his team, he was never in charge of anyone. He wasn't sure how to act in this situation, but it didn't seem to matter much. Neal had taken charge almost immediately.

They hailed a cab and found themselves inside the bank in less than 20 minutes. Reid showed his I.D. to the teller. She typed the information into her computer, then frowned. She nervously looked around her, obviously searching for someone. Neal's survival instincts kicked in, and he began scanning the building for escape routes and other information.

Tautly, the teller said, "I'm sorry, sir. There seems to be a problem. I'm just going to check with my manager." And she quickly walked away and out of site into a back room.

Perplexed, Reid's brow knit. He turned around to confer with Neal. He had a moment of panic when he did not immediately find his new friend. Searching the large room, he found him casually standing behind a large marble column studying his surroundings. Looking back to find the teller was not yet returning, he quickly came up behind Neal, "What's going on?"

Startled, Neal swiveled around, "Reid, something's going on here, man. I don't like it."

"What are you talking about?" Reid searched the bank for anything suspicious.

"That teller. She was too nervous. Something's wrong. I can feel it." Neal was almost squirming, a habit Reid conjectured was foreign to this man.

"Nothing's wrong. There's probably just some kind of computer malfunction." Reid made his way back to the desk as the clerk returned with her manager.

The manager, a severely dressed woman with a salt and pepper bouffant, glared at the young man before her. Now it was Reid's turn to squirm. She wasted no time in getting to the point, "Dr. Reid, I am afraid your safety deposit box has been sealed by the Federal Bureau of Investigation"

Reid blinked stupidly for a few moments, "I-I'm sorry. What?"

No less sternly, the manager responded, "I am certain you understood me, sir. You will have to take this matter up with the F.B.I." She briskly returned his I.D., and pointedly looked in the direction of the menacing security guard.

Stunned, Reid pocketed his identification and returned to Neal, still hiding behind the column. "What did I tell you?" Neal whispered as they made their way to the exit.

Reid self-consciously jammed his hands into his pockets, "I'm sure it's a simple mistake. Let's get back to the bureau so I can get this straightened out."

XOXOXOXOXO

Once back at the B.A.U. Reid's first inclination was to ask Hotch for help. He would certainly have the connections needed to get to the bottom of this. However, his boss' door was still closed and he hesitated to disturb him over a personal matter. The only other person who would have enough insight into the secret workings of the F.B.I. was Garcia. Reid led Neal to her lair.

She swiveled in her chair as she heard the door open behind her. Looking up through her horn-rimmed glasses, she smiled warmly at Reid's familiar face, "and who do I owe for this pleasant interruption?"

Reid, as usual, looked bewildered by her unusual greeting. He stepped into the room, and Neal followed closely behind. One glace at the uncommonly handsome stranger was enough to fluster Garcia. She put on her most dazzling smile and asked, "Who's your friend?"

Reid had almost forgotten Neal and Garcia had yet to meet. He responded with, "Oh, right. Sorry. Penelope Garcia, this is Neal Caffrey." Garcia presented her hand for a shake, but Neal took it with both of his, looked deeply into her eyes, and crooned, "It is lovely to meet you, Penelope."

This set her heart all a twitter and she began to giggle. Reid was not sure what to make of this. Morgan talked to Garcia like that all the time, and it always perplexed him a little then too. He handled it the same way this time, by changing the subject back to the business at hand, "Garcia, something strange just happened to me at the bank." He continued to relay the entire story to her. At some point she turned to her computer and began keying in information and search criteria. It was not long before Reid had at least some of his answers.

Garcia condensed the information for him, "Looks like Agent Milner put the freeze on the box. He originally asked for a search warrant but was denied for lack of evidence. This freeze was the best he could do. The bank alerted him via email as soon as you left, but it looks like he hasn't checked his messages yet."

"Can you . . . "

"Delete that email?" Garcia interrupted, "Already on it, sugar plumb." She clicked a few more keys and the email disappeared. A couple more clicks and Garcia found something else interesting, "Seems Agent Milner suspects your box was originally owned by a Charles Nesbit?"

Reid nodded his head, "he was my great-grandfather."

"Yeah? He was also alleged to be closely connected with the Mob, and suspected to have several high-level government officials tucked neatly in his hip pocket. He was one of the originators of the Las Vegas Strip? Reid! I had no idea you came from such a notorious family."

Reid too was stunned. He was leaning over Garcia's shoulder, quickly scanning and re-scanning the computer screen. He could hardly believe what he was reading. His mother had never told him any of this. Now he really wanted to know what was in that box, but how was he going to get ahold of the key? He hit on an idea, "Garcia, is there any way you can unseal my safety deposit box?"

"I can try, but that bank already has some kick-ass high security in place, and I'd have to dig through the F.B.I. security undetected first."

Reid was shocked, "are you telling me you can't do it?"

"Oh honey, I don't know the meaning of the word. It's just going to take some time is all."

Reid tried to think of any way he could help this move faster, but was at a loss. He glanced over at Neal sitting quietly behind them. It was obvious his wheels were turning too. Reid saw Neal's eyes flash and a smile cross his face. The two men locked eyes and Reid understood that Neal had a plan. He leaned toward his new friend with interest only to watch Neal jerk his head in the direction of the door. Reid was concerned about a plan that couldn't be revealed with Garcia present, but he was curious enough to at least want to hear him out. Quickly he made an excuse, "Thanks Garcia. We'll get out of your way then. Let me know if – I mean when – you get past security?"

Distractedly, she nodded her head. As the two men exited, she realized she didn't know how much longer Reid planned to be around tonight. She turned quickly to ask, but instead spotted the green light of Neal's anklet blinking. Shocked, she forgot what she was going to ask.

XOXOXOXOXO

At 5:30 Peter arrived to find Neal and Reid, heads together, in yet another animated conversation. They hurriedly put away the sheets of hand-written notes they were working on when they spotted him. This put Peter on immediate alert. He was very much aware of Neal's persuasive abilities, and he had no doubt he could con the young F.B.I. agent into all kinds of trouble. Innocently, Peter asked, "what've you two been working on all this time?"

Neal stepped up with, "Just a couple of cases Reid's been investigating."

"Uh-huh. Sure you have. Neal, remember what I said about any trouble while we're here."

Now it was Neal's turn to play innocent, "What, Peter? We were just looking over some cases. I swear."

Peter glanced at Reid and decided he looked entirely too guilty to be telling the truth, but what could he do? The younger man was not his responsibility. Neal, however, was, but the most he could do with him without knowing what they were up to was give him an incentive to behave himself, "I have conferences scheduled all day tomorrow, but if you keep yourself out of trouble, we'll be able to go to the Smithsonian the morning after." Neal's eyes lit up and his smile was genuine. Perhaps this would be enough to keep him out of whatever chaos he was brewing up today.

As they walked out the door, Neal turned and said, "See you tomorrow, Reid." The young F.B.I. agent waved and turned back to their notes, reviewing them one last time before heading home.

XOXOXOXOXO

Reid came in late the next morning. He had stayed up late preparing for today. He was nervous about their plan, but after deliberating other options all evening, he was certain this was the fastest way to get the answers he needed.

Neal had arrived with Peter about a half hour earlier. Garcia had volunteered to keep an eye on him until Reid turned up. Really, she wanted a chance to get to know him a little better. She found him charming – too charming, and she didn't trust him to have Reid's best interests in mind. Reid found them sitting together at his desk.

Trying to remember to act normal, Reid shook a bit as he placed the brown paper bag on his desk right beside Garcia, "Morning. What's going on?"

"Just waiting for you, sweetie," Garcia bubbled. "I'll be off to my grotto of technical wonders now." She started to head back to her office, then turned and called back, "Uh, Reid, can I talk with you for a sec.?"

"Yeah, umm, sure Garcia." Quietly, he said to Neal, "I'll be right back." Neal nodded his head and grabbed the paper bag to look inside. He grinned broadly as Reid walked away.

Garcia led Reid closer to her office as she whispered, "What are you two up to?" At the look of innocent denial she received, she countered with, "Don't try that with me. I know trouble when I see it. Does this have anything to do with that safety deposit box of yours?"

Ignoring her concern, he asked, "Were you able to unseal it, Garcia?"

Defeated, she admitted, "No. Not yet. But I will. These things take time."

"Just let me know when you get that, okay? I need to get back to Neal." Reid scurried away leaving Garcia feeling like she was hit by a tornado. She returned to her office and picked up her phone.

XOXOXOXOXO

Less than an hour later Reid and Neal walked up the steps to the bank's front doors. Neal, as always, looked calm and self-possessed. Reid on the other hand nervously switched the paper bag from hand to hand. "Take it easy, will you?" Neal admonished, "This is going to be easy."

As nervous as he was, Reid couldn't help but feel slighted by Neal's composed behavior, "Look, this might be a normal daily event for you, but I've never done anything like this before!"

"You're going to be fine. Just create a good distraction, and your part's done," Neal reminded him for what felt like the tenth time this morning.

Reid nodded his head and released the breath he had been holding. They pushed the doors open and confidently walked into the already crowded bank. Reid veered to the right and found a secluded alcove in which to watch Neal. The older man continued forward alone. He found a pretty, young bank employee walking quickly, her arms loaded down with binders. Seeming to carelessly bump into her, Neal sent her burden crashing to the floor. All apologies, Neal quickly bent to help her reassemble the binders. Reid watched as Neal deftly lifted the young woman's key card from her pocket. If he hadn't known this was about to happen, Reid never would have seen it.

Getting the lady rearranged, Neal offered one last apology and took his leave. He caught Reid's eye, and both men nodded acknowledgement that the next stage of the plan was needed. Now it was Reid's turn. Still nervous, but determined to see this through, Reid took one last look around to make sure he couldn't be seen. Then, from the paper bag he removed the four sugar and potassium nitrate smoke bombs he had made last night. They wouldn't burn long, but they would produce a lot of harmless smoke. He placed the two with the longest fuses on a small empty shelf, lit them, then hastily made his way to the other side of the bank. He lit the other two just as the smoke from the first two was becoming evident. He hoped he would be able to blend into the crowd as their attention was drawn to the smoke.

Soon the bank was alive with chaos. A woman screamed and pointed. Several others yelled, "fire!" and started scrambling for the nearest exits. Parent's grabbed their children and began running. Reid saw a couple security guards running toward the smoke, talking on their radios and trying to calm the panicking crowd. Reid began to panic too. He hadn't expected this great of a reaction to a little smoke. He moved into action, both blending in and trying to calm the swarm of people.

Reid didn't see when Neal easily slipped into the back room with the safety deposit boxes. Neal quickly found the box, took out the key Reid had supplied, and opened it. Inside was the strange pocket watch. With gloved hands, he appropriated the timepiece and pressed it into his pocket. As the commotion continued outside, Neal cracked the door open. Peeking outside, he didn't see anyone looking in his direction. Nonchalantly, he stepped into the confused throng. The smoke bombs had been discovered, and the crowd was beginning to calm down a bit. Neal found Reid not far away and made his way triumphantly in his direction. Before he got there, Reid locked eyes with him, and without words Neal signaled his success. Reid visibly relaxed.

It was too soon. From across the room both men heard an angry, "Hey! You two there!" They looked up to find the guard from yesterday furiously huffing his way toward them. Neal sprang into action. He grabbed a stunned Reid's arm and ran directly into the drifting mass of people. No longer frightened, they easily parted to let the running young men pass.

They burst through the doors into an outer hallway. Turning left, they headed for the main exit. The door they had just run though banged open. Neal looked back to find the guard gaining on them. He was a lot faster than he looked. "Run!" He yelled, and Reid gladly increased his speed.

Rounding a bend in the hall, Neal was alarmed to be suddenly slammed into a wall. The air was knocked out of his lungs, but he struggled to see what, or who, had hit him that hard. His hands were being held behind his back, and within seconds he felt the familiar cold clasp of handcuffs. Before he could see his attacker's face he heard Reid yelling. Neal vaguely wondered why he had bothered to come back. He should have kept running. Slowly, he was able to make out what his friend was saying, "Morgan! He was helping me. It's okay man. You can let him go." Nothing he was saying seemed to make one bit of difference to the man holding Neal in a vice grip.

"Come here, youngster!" Neal's attacker was clearly talking to Reid now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friend gulp and obediently move toward this man. "Sit!" The man directed Reid to the bench beside them. The young man sat without hesitation.

Neal gave up any hope of escape as the guard arrived. He immediately stopped struggling and tried to calm his mind enough to come up with another plan.

The man who had caught him flashed a badge at the guard and authoritatively said, "F.B.I. We've got this one. Thank you for your help." At the hesitant look on the guard's face, Neal's attacker said, "I'll send you a report in a couple of days. You're to be commended for your diligent work here. We've been after these two for a while." Placated, the guard nodded his head and grudgingly allowed him custody.

As the guard disappeared around the corner, the F.B.I. agent turned on the younger man, "You want to tell me what the hell is going on here, Reid?"

Reid chewed his lower lip a second before starting, "umm . . . Agent Morgan, this is Neal Caffrey," he introduced his new friend. Morgan turned to the handcuffed man, gave the slick-looking younger man a quick once over, and decided he had no interest in listening to anything he might have to say.

Reaffirming his grip on Neal, Morgan said, "come on kid. You can explain on the way back to the bureau." He headed for the door, dragging Neal along, fully confident that Reid would follow.

XOXOXOXOXO

By the time the trio arrived at the J. Edgar Hoover building Morgan had heard the entire story and was now trying to breathe through a pounding headache. He thought of Reid as a little brother, and he worried the kid had finally gone too far. Hotch was going to be livid. "You never even considered asking Hotch or Rossi or even me for help?"

Reid intently studied his lap and nervously laced and unlaced his fingers, "I don't know what I was thinking. It seemed like a good idea when we came up with it." Hoping he could diffuse a little of the anger emanating from Morgan, he asked, "How did you know? What we were doing, I mean."

"Garcia called me," he tersely replied.

Reid silently mouthed, "ah" and returned to studying his lap. Morgan's anger was not going to be dimmed at this time.

Neal sat quietly in the back seat listening to Reid tell the story. He continued to maintain his innocent demeanor. Morgan hadn't been fooled for a second and had kept the man handcuffed. He shifted uncomfortably as the older agent quickly pulled the pickup into a tight space in the parking garage.

As the engine cut off, Reid visibly gulped, "What now?" he apprehensively asked Morgan.

"Now, you two sit down with Hotch," he answered unequivocally. "I don't know how he's going to react to this one, kid." Reid anxiously bit his lip. Morgan twisted in his seat to get a better look at Neal, "where's the watch?"

Neal blinked innocently at the older agent, "I don't have it. It wasn't in the box. Whoever sealed it must have moved it first." Reid was staring at him with vexed concern. He was certain Neal had acquired it. But as soon as Morgan turned to look in Reid's direction, the younger agent carefully schooled his face into one of innocence. Neal grinned a little thinking the kid was finally catching on to how this game was played. Morgan felt that something was up. He climbed out of the cab and helped Neal out as well. Suddenly, he roughly shoved Neal face-first up against the body of his truck and expertly patted him down. He was certain the watch was here somewhere. Not finding it, he quickly scanned the backseat, still finding nothing.

Seeing his new friend treated like this by his big brother startled Reid. He jumped out of the front seat and came to their side hoping to diffuse the situation. "Hey, come on Morgan. He doesn't have it. Okay?" Morgan gave him a hard, skeptical look, and Reid withered immediately.

"Do you have it?" Morgan demanded of Reid.

"N-no. No! What? Are you going to search me now too?" Reid almost thought he was going to.

The older agent gave him a long, discerning look, then decided the kid wouldn't lie to him. At least he never had in the past. Instead, Morgan said, "Come on. Let's get this over with." Morgan ushered the errant young men to the elevators, keeping Neal handcuffed for now. Exiting the elevator car, he held each by an elbow. Neither protested. Reaching Reid's desk, he told the younger man to sit, then he turned to Neal. As he spun the young conman around and removed the handcuffs, he roughly said, "I don't know who you are or why you thought this was a good idea, but after today, I'd better never see you around here again. You got that?" Neal turned back to face Morgan, and defiantly stared the F.B.I. agent directly in the eye. Morgan stared right back.

Neal, realizing he could not intimidate this man, rolled his eyes and glanced down at Reid. His young friend looked thoroughly cowed and merely stared up at him apologetically, "Yeah. I got it." And he flopped, defeated, in the chair next to Reid.

"You two stay put. Reid, if he moves, shoot him." Reid only blinked at Morgan with large puppy dog eyes. Neal rolled his eyes again and snorted. He wasn't going anywhere any way, and when Peter found out he would be lucky if he'd ever be allowed to go anywhere at all ever again.

Morgan made his way up the stairs to the catwalk that led to Hotch's office. The two young men silently watched him go, then they both let out the breath they had been holding. It wasn't over yet, not by a long shot, but maybe they had enough time to figure out how to mitigate the situation. Putting their heads together they worked on getting their stories straight, but how were they going to explain their actions? Reid also wanted to know what happened to his watch. Neal slyly said, "check your jacket pocket." Reid slid his hand in and his fingers hit on something hard. Taking the watch out, he grinned at Neal. "When did you do that?" Reid wanted to know.

"When we were running away from the guard." At Reid's questioning look, Neal shrugged and explained, "Who's more likely to be searched? An ex-con or an F.B.I. agent?" Reid pressed his lips together and nodded. He couldn't deny the truth in that.

Less than 5 minutes later, an irate Peter Burke entered through the glass doors. Garcia must have filled Hotch in too, and Hotch had called Agent Burke. This was the first time Reid had ever seen Neal react with anything other than complete confidence. The conman jumped to his feet and seemed to try to protect himself by moving to the other side of the desk, "Peter." He sounded almost frightened. "Come on, Peter. Calm down. I can explain."

"Damn it, Neal! I can't leave you alone for even a few hours?" Neal opened his mouth to expound, but Peter intercepted him, "No! Sit! Stay! -NOW!" Alarmed, Neal, uncharacteristically awkward, sat. No other person on the planet could make Neal Caffery feel like a naughty adolescent as quickly or as absolutely as Peter Burke. The older agent turned to Reid who shriveled a little under his gaze, "Agent Hotchner's office?"

Reid hesitantly pointed toward his boss' office. Peter looked over his shoulder, then back to the two young men. He gave them a curt nod and graced Neal with an extra hard look that demanded he not move a muscle. Reid was shocked to see his confident friend anxiously gulp. As soon as Peter was out of earshot, he heard Neal groan and drop his head on the desk. Reid would have felt sorry for him if he wasn't in so much trouble himself.

Ten minutes later they watched Morgan trudge out of Hotch's office. He gave them a meaningful glance, then walked out the door. Knowing their time was almost up, Neal and Reid looked at each other, then swiveled to see who had just walked out of the office. A stone-faced Peter pointed at them with two fingers, then flipped his palm up and gave them the "come here" gesture with those same two fingers.

They immediately obeyed.

XOXOXOXOXO

". . . and that's what happened." Reid finished with a shrug and glanced sideways at his friend who returned the glance. Both young men risked a hesitant look at their big brothers before dropping their eyes to the floor again.

As Peter was still mumbling, "damn it Neal!" under his breath, Hotch was the first to gain his composure enough to speak, "what am I going to do with you, Reid?"

Reid knew exactly what Hotch was going to do with him. He squirmed in his chair and chewed his lower lip, but said nothing. His guts started to churn in anticipation of what was certain to be a very severe punishment. Inwardly, he begged Hotch not to tell Peter and Neal what he was going to do to him. He was jolted out of his thoughts when Peter finally spoke.

"Neal, you're going back to prison for this. There's no way I can stop that now." He sounded far more disappointed and sad than angry. Neal gave Peter a wide-eyed frightened look. He didn't have much freedom now with his anklet, but it was far better than going back to prison. Suddenly, Neal realized his friend Mozzie was right about him. He was like a child with no impulse control. "Please, Peter. I'll do anything to fix this."

"How Neal? You say you don't have the watch. Do you think anyone is going to believe that? And even if they do, there's still the breaking and entering charges."

"I didn't break anything, Peter. I only entered. No breaking."

"Trespassing then."

"Trespassing's not a felony."

As the two men bickered Reid flashed Hotch a pleading look. This was all his fault, and if anyone could save his friend from returning to prison, it was Hotch. The older agent considered Reid's silent plea. Hitting on an idea, he raised one meaningful eyebrow, and Reid knew exactly what Hotch's idea was. Hotch was asking his permission to suggest his plan to Agent Burke. He gulped, then nodded his head, dropping his eyes in submission.

Hotch cleared his throat to get Peter and Neal's attention. Once he had it, he solemnly asked, "Agent Burke, may I speak with you alone for a moment?" Peter seemed confused, but he assented. Taking in both young men, Hotch said, "wait in the bullpen, please."

They stood and slowly exited. Reid didn't want to admit to Neal that he knew what they were going to talk about, so he remained silent. Neal, however, knew something was up. "What do you think that was all about?" he asked Reid. The younger man, hands in his pockets, merely shrugged and avoided eye contact. This caught Neal's attention. Reid was shy and awkward, but he never lacked for interesting hypotheses, and he was always willing to share them. "Reid? What do you know?"

The young man's pitch rose, giving away his uneasiness, "Nothing, man." He sat at his desk, nervously took the watch out of his pocket and began fiddling with it.

Neal quickly moved to block any view of Reid from Hotch's office, "Are you crazy? Put that away! Do you want to get us into more trouble?" Realizing what he had been doing, Reid quickly pocketed the watch again. Neal continued, "What's going on, Reid? You know something. Spill it."

Hesitantly, Reid started, "It's – It's just that . . . well, Hotch. He kind of . . . When I . . . do something stupid . . . like this . . . well . . . it's just that . . . " He trailed off looking for a better way to put this.

Neal was getting frustrated, "Come on, man! Spit it out." He demanded.

Reid tried again, "When I . . . " Just then, Hotch's door opened. Both men walked out and Reid clamped his mouth shut.

Neal turned to look up at the stone-faced visage of his keeper. Realizing he was the only one in the room unaware of what was about to happen was a disconcerting feeling. He was usually the one running the game, not the pawn. He carefully watched for any clue or sign as Peter descended the stairs. He got none. What he did get was a brusque, "come on, Neal. We have some things to talk about."

As they walked out the glass doors toward the elevators, Reid inquisitively returned his gaze to his boss who simply nodded and said, "my presentation begins at 1. Do not move from your desk until I come to get you. We'll leave no later than 4. We have some things to discuss too."

Reid's guts again began to churn. He knew he was going to be very sorry after Hotch finished with him tonight, and he still had more than three hours to sit and think about it.

XOXOXOXOXO

Entering the hotel lobby, Peter gravely strode toward his hotel room. Neal, at his heals, had to jog to keep up with the older man's long strides.

"Come on, Peter. I'm sorry. Just tell me what I can do to fix this." Disappointing people in his life had never been a concern for the young Caffrey. He never really cared what people thought about him and believed it was their problem if they were disappointed. When he met Peter, that changed. This was the first person who had ever made him feel ashamed of his wayward actions. Peter was also the only honest man who had ever cared about Neal's well-being, and Neal never wanted to let him down.

Reaching his room, he unlocked the door and escorted Neal inside. Pointing to the couch, he commanded, "sit." Neal sat, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He watched as Peter retrieved two bottles of water from the mini fridge and handed one to him. Clearly, nervous about the impending conversation, Peter stayed standing, "I don't think I have to tell you you're in a lot of trouble here, Neal." Wide-eyed, the younger man nodded his head slightly, and Peter continued, "If Agent Hotchner chooses to turn you over to the authorities, you're going back to prison for a long time."

"Peter, I –" He stopped as the older man held up his hand.

"Please, just listen for now." Neal assented and Peter resumed, "We both recognize that while your actions were impetuous and dangerous, they were done with the best intentions in mind. You wanted to help your friend – who also should have known better." He wanted to make sure Neal understood he was not the only one in trouble for this. Neal was listening intently, sensing Peter was trying to offer him some hope. Renewing his firm speech, Peter cleared his throat and said, "Agent Hotchner also brought up the point that your actions were those of an adolescent with no impulse control."

Neal flashed Peter a look of hurt. Peter returned this with one meaningful raised eyebrow and pursed lips. Neal lowered his eyes to midline. Not exactly an admission of guilt, but he couldn't hold Peter's gaze either. Inside, Neal knew it was true. How many times had Mozzie said the same thing? He rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin in his hands as his lower lip stuck out slightly. Neal didn't want to talk about his lack of impulse control any more.

Peter wasn't finished yet though. "We both feel prison would be too harsh a penalty for this," Neal sat up a little straighter and returned his attention to Peter, "— but you still need to accept some kind of punishment for your actions."

Neal didn't like the sound of that one bit, "What are we talking about here?" he asked suspiciously.

The best way to introduce the idea of Agent Hotchner's proposal, Peter thought, was to let him know he wouldn't be the only one receiving this punishment, should he decide to accept it. "Agent Hotchner should fire Reid today, but he won't. He is a brilliant young man who sometimes let's his emotions get in the way of rational, adult thinking. When that happens, he is punished the way any badly behaved adolescent would be. He'll receive a spanking and a two week restriction tonight from Agent Hotchner."

Neal was speechless. Thinking back to when Reid was trying to explain what he knew, it was understandable now that he had such difficultly saying the words. Then it hit Neal exactly what Peter was suggesting. He jerked his head up to face his friend, "What? No. No way am I going to – to do that!" He was vehemently shaking his head no and shifting in his seat.

Calmly, Peter came to sit beside the upset young man on the couch, "Neal, listen to me." He waited until he had eye contact, "you have a choice here, and I think it's a fairly easy one to make. One hour of punishment followed by two weeks house arrest, or a very long stay in prison with no hope of parole any time soon." He watched as the reality of the situation sunk in for his young friend.

Neal gulped and tried to calm his breathing. They sat in silence for a full minute, Peter letting Neal process his options. Quietly, almost too low for Peter to hear, Neal asked, "will you do it, or Agent Hotchner?"

Peter relaxed a little knowing the kid was about to make the right decision, "I will."

Twisting slightly to face his friend, Neal threw out one last proposal – one he knew had very little chance of flying, "Can't you just tell him you did it, and not actually do it?"

Peter offered a sympathetic grin. He'd known that was coming. "Nope," was all he said.

Neal's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he nodded his head, "How do we do this?" he asked looking at his shoes.

Rising from the couch and with a confidence he did not feel, Peter said, "come with me." He waited for the young man to stand, then took him by the elbow and guided him to a spot beside the bed. "Take off your shoes and give me one of them." Neal didn't understand but was in no position to question the order. He did as he was told, kicking the other one out of the way. Peter placed that one shoe on the bed, then said, "slacks off." Neal's mouth fell open, and he was about to protest when he caught the deadly serious look in Peter's eye. He clapped his mouth shut and blinked several times before he complied.

He could hardly believe this was real. Was he really about to be spanked like a naughty child? Thinking back, he realized this was inevitable. So many times in the past, while being scolded by Peter, he had thought the older man was going to do exactly this. Being honest about it, he realized this was probably a long time in coming considering how truly often he had deserved it. Neal slowly unfastened his belt and removed his slacks. Folding them neatly and just as slowly, he walked to the dresser and placed them on top. He was feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable now, and he couldn't meet Peter's eye as he returned to his designated spot beside the bed.

As Neal prepared, Peter removed his jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He sat in the middle of the long side of the bed and waited for Neal to return and indicate he was ready.

Neal stood passively by Peter's side, waiting for his next instruction. "I need you to tell me this is your final decision, Neal, because once we begin I will decide when it is over. Understand?"

Still unable to meet Peter's eye, Neal quietly but sincerely stated, "This is my choice, Peter. I don't want to go back to prison. And I understand that you are in control from this point on." Then he did something that took Peter completely by surprise, and touched him deeply. Neal finally made eye contact and said just as sincerely, "I trust you, Peter." Then, as if he had done this before, Neal laid himself over Peter's lap and waited for his punishment to begin.

Peter started off slowly, but Neal was still surprised by how much it stung. He jumped each time a swat landed, but he was determined not to make a sound. Peter's room was at the end of the hallway, and his own was the only other room adjacent to this one, so he was fairly certain no one would hear, but he didn't want to cry out in front of Peter. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to breathe through the stinging building up in his butt and thighs.

Once Peter had thoroughly covered the young man's hind quarters, he stopped and jerked down Neal's boxers before he could recover enough to protest. Neal gasped in shock, then remembered what he'd said about Peter being in charge, he groaned and laid his head down on the bed waiting for the next round of swats. Surely the fabric couldn't have offered much protection any way. When the swats began again, Neal was surprised at how much more it hurt now. He let out a small cry before he realized what he was doing, and then he rekindled his efforts to stay quiet. It was becoming much harder now. He crossed and uncrossed his ankles, but it didn't help. He tried not to kick, but was unsuccessful.

Peter let the first two kicks go. At the third he quickly readjusted their positions so that Neal's legs were pinned below his right leg while his butt remained easily accessible over his left. Peter continued painting Neal's butt and upper thighs a deep shade of crimson. In this new restraining position Neal felt what little control he had left slip away. He began letting out more and more gasps and yelps, but he didn't care anymore. It wasn't until Peter, this man he respected more than anyone in the world, started reprimanding him that he lost all control and the crying began in earnest.

The lecture was punctuated with each swat, "We've talked about this kind of thing before, Neal. When you don't think through to the consequences, that's when you get yourself into trouble. I know you were bored at the conference. That does not give you the right to use an impressionable young F.B.I. agent as your entertainment. And you know as well as anyone, there are better, legal, ways to fight injustice. I expect you to keep that in mind at all times. I don't want to have to keep reminding you how important it is that you – especially you – manage to deal with issues legally. Breaking into that safety deposit box was irresponsible and unnecessary.

Neal was openly sobbing now, though he wasn't sure if it was the spanking or Peter's words that had made this happen. Right now, he didn't really care. He just wanted it to stop. He was having trouble catching his breath. When he gasped, Peter suddenly stopped. Neal continued to sob, but as he started to calm down he became aware of Peter gently rubbing his back and speaking soothingly, "It's okay. Breathe. You're fine."

"P-Peter, I'm s-s-sorry –"

"Kiddo, I wish I could tell you that that was enough, or that this spanking was over, but it's not yet." Neal's sobs recommenced, but he remained acquiescent over Peter's lap. Peter truly hated what he had to do now, but if this was the only way to keep Neal out of prison and to hopefully teach him a lesson he would retain, he had to finish this the right way. Neal was still too upset to begin again. Peter decided they could both use a short break. He pulled Neal's boxers back up and said, "Get up and go stand in the corner."

Neal wasn't sure he'd heard that correctly, but he didn't hesitate in climbing off of Peter's lap. Once standing, he felt something rare for him – uncertainty. He despondently looked to Peter for guidance. Peter graciously pointed to the corner right beside the bed. Neal understood what was expected and miserably planted himself where he was told.

Peter handed Neal his half-finished bottle of water which he gratefully accepted. The older man then pulled out his cell phone and dialed his wife's number. He needed to hear her voice right now. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Hi honey. How's D.C.? Is Neal behaving himself?"

Peter allowed himself a small smile. He was certain he'd married the most perceptive woman on Earth, "hi El. D.C. is great. Neal on the other hand is not." He saw the young man shift uncomfortably at his words, "I'll tell you about it later. Listen, Hun, can you see if you can get our tickets home moved up to tomorrow morning?"

Elizabeth was surprised by this, but said, "Sure. I'll try. Are you sure everything's okay there?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just can't wait to get home to your beautiful face."

Elizabeth smiled at the obvious obfuscation, but said, "I'll see what I can do about those tickets and call you back."

"Thanks Hun. I love you."

"Love you too."

Peter sighed deeply then turned back to his errant young charge, "Okay, let's get this over with." He returned to his seat on the bed, "come here, Neal."

Neal turned around and Peter expected some kind of protest or bargaining, but all he got was Neal's eyes pleading with him. Peter didn't understand what exactly he was seeing in those eyes. As Neal positioned himself at Peter's side, the older man compassionately asked, "What do you want to say, Neal?"

Neal looked at Peter through his eyelashes and said, "I – I really am sorry, Peter. I don't expect you to stop punishing me because I'm saying that. I just wanted you to know." He dropped his eyes back to the floor and waited for instructions.

Peter deeply sighed. Though he appreciated Neal's sentiment, it didn't make what he was about to do any easier. He took Neal's wrist and guided him back into position over his knee and pulled his boxers back down. Grabbing the shoe waiting behind him on the bed, he raised it over his target and commanded, "Tell me why you're being punished, Neal."

The younger man hadn't been prepared for this. He scrambled to think of an answer, "I-I broke into a sealed safety deposit box." His last word was punctuated with a loud smack. The pain registered a second later and Neal gasped in shock. Peter was using the sole of his shoe to rekindle the fire in his butt. Then he heard the dreaded words.

"What else?"

Neal cringed but answered, "I made an accomplice of an F.B.I. agent." He could hardly believe how quickly the fire was reignited. This time he cried out.

"Go on."

"I was trespassing?" Peter brought the shoe down hard once again.

"And?"

Neal was starting to run out of reasons, but clearly Peter was fishing for something specific. "I-I don't know, Peter. What?"

"How about putting yourself in danger?"

The younger man wasn't sure what he meant by that. He had never been in any real danger. "Uh, Peter? I'm sorry, but I don't think that one's legit."

"No? You were in danger of going to prison. You were in danger of throwing your life away. And for what? A few moments of diversion from your boredom?"

Now Neal understood what he meant, and he meekly answered, "I'm sorry, Peter. I wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't. But you need to start thinking. Maybe next time you'll remember this punishment before you endanger yourself." And with that Peter began spanking Neal severely with the sole of the shoe.

The young man tried not to struggle, but he simply couldn't help it. Every cell in his body was telling him to run away from this assault. He grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it to muffle his cries. He tried to remind himself that this would be over much sooner than a prison sentence, but it didn't seem to help. He fought, but Peter held him in place. After what seemed like hours, but was really only a couple of minutes of the shoe, Peter abruptly stopped. He returned to rubbing Neal's back and speaking soothingly. Neal heard, "shhh. It's all over now, kiddo. Breathe. Come on, Neal, Breathe." He hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He gasped and welcomed in a lungful of air. Peter continued rubbing his back and speaking softly to him as he worked on regaining control of his breathing. His sobs reduced to cries and then to hiccups.

"Do you want to get up now?" Peter asked gently. Neal realized he was still lying over Peter's lap. He moved to stand up but was a little unstable. Peter steadied him as he rose. The young man reached back to rub at the stinging and realized Peter had replaced his boxers at some point. Again, he found himself unsure of what to do next, so he simply stood there and waited.

Peter stood over his friend and kindly guided him back to the couch. "Sit and watch some T.V. for a while. We'll go pick up some dinner in an hour or so." He handed Neal the remote and sat at the small desk pulling files out of his briefcase.

Neal started at the television without turning it on. He was having trouble processing what had just happened.

Realizing the room was still quiet, Peter turned to check on Neal. "You okay?" Neal just stared into space. He seemed dazed. "Hey!" Peter watched as Neal slowly turned his attention to the older man. He asked again, "You okay?"

Neal blinked and hazily said, "Yeah, Peter, yeah. I'm fine. I just – I'm fine, Peter." He trailed off, not really sure what to say or what was wrong.

Peter was never good with emotional stuff. Quickly he asked himself what Elizabeth would do. He really wished she were here right now. He turned so that his entire body was facing his friend and said, "What's going on, Neal? What's wrong?" Neal curled himself into a tight ball on the couch and gazed at the floor. Normally, this is where Peter would tell Neal to cowboy up, but somehow he just knew that wouldn't be helpful at this moment. Instead, he waited for the young man to say something. When it was clear he wasn't going to, Peter walked to the couch, sat down and placed an arm around Neal.

To his chagrin Neal found himself suddenly and inexplicably crying again. Peter pulled him closer and just let him cry. He sobbed for what felt like a very long time. Eventually, he limply sat wrapped in one of Peter's arms quietly sniffling. "I'm sorry, Peter. I don't know why I did that."

Peter didn't know if he meant the crying or the crime, but it didn't matter. "Shhh, Neal. You're fine, and I'm right here." Keeping his arm around Neal, Peter reached for the remote and found a football game.

Normally, Neal would fight Peter on watching sports, but right now, he didn't care what was on. He felt safe and that was all he really cared about at the moment.

Neal never did return to his own room that night. At some point while they were watching television Peter had supplied him with a pillow and blanket. Neal found himself curled up on the couch the next morning. He had no idea when he had fallen asleep.

Peter was quietly talking on the phone. Neal realized he was talking with Elizabeth. Listening to their conversation, he learned that their new tickets home had them leaving by 11am. Neal had no idea what time it was now, but he assumed it was quite early. Still, he sighed, there wasn't much chance in finally getting to the Smithsonian this trip.

Neal sat up and groggily looked around for his slacks. He was surprised when Peter, still on his cell, tossed them at him with a grin. He stood up and arranged his clothing the best he could as Peter finished his call.

Peter looked extremely happy, "we're going home early," he stated eagerly. "Go grab a shower and get packed up. We have a few stops to make before we head to the train station."

Neal looked at him through the corner of his eye and sardonically said, "I don't suppose one of those stops would be a museum."

Aggravatingly, Peter grinned again, "Do you think you deserve a museum visit?" Neal flinched a little at that. "Nope, we're going to check in with Agent Hotchner, and you are going to apologize."

Neal couldn't believe what he was hearing. Peter wasn't seriously going to make him face Agent Hotchner again? "Come on, Peter. Can't you just call him and tell him it's done?" Neal whined.

Peter knew this would be hard for the young man, but it would be good for him. "Go get ready. We leave in a half hour."

Sighing, Neal walked out the door and into his own hotel room.

Peter watched him go with concern. He'd expected a bigger fight than that.

XOXOXOXOXO

Entering the F.B.I. headquarters, Peter was worried about his friend's subdued mood. Neal was never like this. He'd expected to have to fight the young man every step of the way. Instead, he had been quiet and compliant all morning. He stayed close to Peter as they walked.

Entering the B.A.U. offices Peter scanned the room for a familiar face. As there were only three people in the room, it wasn't hard to find. He nodded at Agent Hotchner who had just walked out of his office. As he waved the two men up, Peter noticed an imposing man walking toward them. He didn't seem pleased by what he saw, and Peter realized that Neal was now hiding behind him. Peter held up his hands and said with authority, "What's going on here?" The imposing man stopped, seeming to be waiting for the conman to answer that question. Peter turned and warningly asked, "Neal?"

Hands in his pockets and studying the floor, Neal answered, "He's a friend of Reid's. H-he told me never to come back here."

Noticing his agent's combative attitude, Hotch had descended the stairs to waylay him, "It's okay Morgan. I've asked them here."

Morgan couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Hotch, you know what he did."

"I know, and it's been taken care of." He knew Morgan would grumble about this, but at least his guests could pass without further trouble from him. "Please, follow me," he said to Peter and Neal as he headed back to his office. They walked past a steaming Morgan, Neal keeping as far away from the man as possible.

Entering Hotch's office, they found Reid sitting on the couch, his long legs curled up around him. He had been reading through a stack of files, but now looked up and warmly greeted them. Neal, still in a subdued mood, looked up and caught his friend's eye. Reid smiled and blushed a bit. Neal returned the look knowing now that they truly had both received the same punishment for their crimes. He walked past Peter and went to sit, carefully, next to Reid.

The older men continued standing near the door. Hotch said, "It looks like you were successful." Peter gravely nodded his head as Neal blushed. "Reid confessed everything last night. They did get the key to the box," now it was Reid's turn to blush, "but it was empty when we opened it. I've talked with the agent who put the seal on the safety deposit box, and considering Reid's mother's history, everyone's in agreement that this was probably nothing."

Peter asked, "did you find out why it was sealed in the first place?"

Hotch nodded his head, "Seems Reid's great-grandfather had some sketchy dealings in his time, and they suspected he hid some very valuable gems at one time. They were hopeful this watch/key thing might lead them to the jewels. It didn't this time, but that's not to say that something won't turn up some day. Reid's agreed to report anything he might find in the future."

"Good. Shouldn't they have just gone to Reid in the first place though?" Peter inquired.

"That's what I said!" Reid interjected, but quieted down at the look he received from Hotch.

"They weren't sure how much Reid knew. They were afraid he'd hide information if he knew that they were investigating his family."

"Ah. I see." Peter said, rocking slightly on his heels.

There was an awkward silence for a moment until Hotch realized that Peter needed to talk with him in private. He made their excuse, "Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?"

Relieved, Peter answered, "I'd like that."

As they headed out the door, Hotch turned to the two young men, "You two okay?" They both simply nodded that they were. Hotch carefully closed the door behind him as he left.

Neal took his opportunity to pounce, "There was nothing in the box?" Reid gave him a sly look, and Neal realized he'd found something.

Digging in his pocket, Reid produced a small wooden chip with an engraving of some kind. He whispered, though there was really no reason to do so, "I think it's a code, but I can't figure it out."

Neal looked up at his friend in amazement, "and Agent Hotchner doesn't know about this?" Reid shook his head. He didn't think the kid had it in him. Looking again at the code, Neal said, "it looks familiar actually, but I can't be sure. Can you send me a copy of this and I'll see what I can dig up?"

Reid trusted Neal more than he did Agent Milner, the man who had placed the seal on his safety deposit box. There was something fishy about that man. Even Hotch had noticed it. He handed a piece of paper and a pen to Neal to give him his email address. It would be good to have another set of eyes working on this mystery with him.

XOXOXOXO

Strolling on the catwalk above the bullpen, Peter felt free to talk since no one seemed to be around at the moment. "There's something wrong with Neal. Ever since last night, he's been – I don't know exactly - quiet."

Hotch smiled knowingly. Reid was always more subdued the days following a spanking. "Don't be alarmed, Peter. It's normal. He got himself into more trouble than he could handle alone. That in itself is frightening. But he also learned that you care enough about him to both protect him and not to let him get away with it. That's a lot to process for these young men who have clearly lacked a strong authority figure in their lives until now." He paused to let Peter take that in while he poured them each a cup of coffee, then he continued, "you saw Reid in my office? I didn't tell him he had to be there. That was his choice. He needs to be close to me to make sure I'm still there for him, to feel safe. By tomorrow he'll decide to go back to his own desk. I would guess that by tomorrow Neal will be back to his old self again."

Peter wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but he certainly didn't want the kid to stay like this for much longer.

Reaching the office again, Hotch led the way inside. The two younger men were exchanging pieces of paper. They casually hid them away as the older men entered.

Peter said, "Neal, we have a train to catch. Do you have something you want to say first?" Peter saw a glimmer of the old Neal return as the young man flashed him an innocent questioning expression. Peter gave him a hard look, and he relented.

Standing, Neal walked to face Hotch. Sincerely, he said, "Agent Hotchner, I am truly sorry for any trouble I caused you and Reid."

He seemed to be finished, but Peter knew he wasn't yet. To prod him along, Peter said warningly, "Neal."

It was amazing how much Peter could say with that one word. Neal blinked at Peter, then turned back to Hotch, "and thank you for helping me stay out of prison."

Hotch took his hand and shook it, "I'm glad we were able to work it out, but understand that if anything like this happens again where Reid is concerned, and I will press charges."

Neal gulped and smiled nervously looking at Peter. He was ready to leave in a hurry.

A round of pleasant good-byes were exchanged as Peter and Neal took their leave.

There are crimes that, like frost on flowers, in one single night destroy character and reputation.

HENRY WARD BEECHER, _Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit_

**XOXOXOXOXO**

**Hope you enjoyed. I've left it open to further stories, but not sure if that will happen or not. Please R&R and let me know if you think there should be more. Also love to hear what you liked, didn't like, or would like to see more of.**

**Thanks! **


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I don't usually take requests, but enough folks wrote requesting this be written, that I started to believe it was my idea. LOL! This is the "lost" Hotch/Reid punishment scene. Enjoy . . . **

**XOXOXOXO**

Hotch returned to his office to review his notes one last time before his presentation. While studying, and occasionally revising, the notecards something about his talk with Reid and Neal continued niggling at him. Peter hadn't believed Neal when he said he didn't have the watch. Neal had said he didn't have it every time Peter asked, but Neal had glanced at Reid each time he said it. Hotch realized he hadn't bothered to ask Reid if he had the watch, assuming the younger man would say something if he did. Glancing at the clock he realized he had no time to confront Reid now. With frustration, he threw his jacket back on, straightened his tie and gathered his notes.

Walking onto the catwalk above the bullpen, Hotch found Reid studying some old files. The young man glanced up hearing Hotch moving about above him. Hotch thought he looked vaguely guilty, but wondered if it was his imagination. The older agent strode down the staircase and directly to Reid's desk. The younger man was looking up at him through his eyelashes, but couldn't quite make eye contact. Hotch knew something was up. Though he didn't have time to interrogate him at the moment, Hotch decided to take one precaution. In his most somber voice, he ordered, "Give me the box, please."

Reid's visage turned to one of confusion. Hotch simply put his palm out waiting for Reid to give up the box. The young man blinked a few times, then reluctantly gave in. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out the ornate cherry wood box, and placed it in his boss' hand. Hotch responded with, "I'll be back in a couple hours. I expect you to be here and ready to go when I return."

Reid thought about what would happen upon Hotch's return and gulped. It was the only response he could manage at the moment. Watching his boss march out of the bullpen with his box, he sighed deeply. He had been waiting for Hotch to leave before he finally tried the watch. If it proved to be the key, he wanted to be alone in case it contained something that might incriminate his great-grandfather. Reid had never known him, or for that matter, been told anything about him, but his curiosity was now piqued. He also did not want the feds investigating his family, especially his mother. She wouldn't be able to handle the stress this could cause.

Now, however, it was evident that Hotch suspected he might have the key. Reid quietly groaned. Hotch wouldn't let it go until he had the truth. He never did.

XOXOXOXOXO

Hotch returned at 3:40, went to his office to collect his briefcase, and then walked out onto the catwalk. "Time to go," he sternly declared to his youngest agent.

Reid knew the drill and had gathered his messenger and go bags already. He stood and went to the exit waiting for Hotch to descend the stairs.

Hotch approached the contrite young man and clapped him on the shoulder. He knew he didn't need to say anything more. He simply led Reid to his waiting car in the parking garage below the building. Once inside the vehicle and on the way to Hotch's apartment, the older agent considered how he wanted to approach the situation. If Reid hadn't told him earlier about having the watch, he probably didn't want to share that information now. Hotch decided to let Reid stew in the silence of the car a while longer.

The tension Reid felt was more than a product of his impending punishment, but his knowledge that he should come clean about the watch now – before they got to Hotch's place. For once Reid wished Hotch lived further away from the bureau. Sixteen blocks took almost no time at all to traverse.

By the time Hotch had parked his car and the two men had ridden up in the elevator to his floor, Reid's guts were churning again. He hadn't managed to tell Hotch the truth yet, but he knew he would before this night was over. The young man silently berated himself for his cowardice. He didn't know why he couldn't just open his mouth and say it, but he was concerned about what would happen if the box really did turn out to contain something important to the F.B.I. case. Hotch would be obligated to report anything they found.

Hotch unlocked his door and pushed it open allowing Reid to enter first. Reid timidly passed his boss, not quite sure that the older man was not going to land a swat on him in passing. Entering the apartment without harm, he apprehensively waited for instructions. Wrapping his right arm around his midsection, he lifted his left hand to his face and anxiously chewed on his thumbnail.

Stepping inside, Hotch closed and locked his door, then turned back to his agent. He contemplated the young man for a few moments, and then jerked his chin toward the guest bedroom.

Reid had been in this situation often enough to understand what was expected. He nodded his head, turned and obediently trudged to "his" room. Here, he was greeted by the usual occupants: a twin bed arranged with military precision, a small wooden desk and chair on the opposite wall, and a dresser beside the bed, above which was plugged into the socket a small turtle nightlight. Reid dropped his bags onto the desk, sighed, and sat on the bed to wait.

He did not have to wait long. Hotch had delivered his briefcase to his office, then went to his own room to change into jeans and a t-shirt. He did this deliberately to create separation between work and what he was about to do. It was important that the young man in the other room know that it was not his boss punishing him, but his friend – one of the many who cared greatly about him. Normally, he would let Reid sit alone for a while to think about things, but he already had nearly three hours to think at the office, and Hotch wanted to get this over with.

Entering the guest room, Hotch found the young man sitting on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. He had been rocking slightly and his knees had been bouncing nervously, but all movement ceased as his big brother walked in. Hotch decided the best approach was a direct one, "Spencer, do you have the watch?"

Reid suddenly and involuntarily inhaled at the use of his first name. This always had a strong impact on the young man. It frightened him because it signaled his punishment was about to begin. At the same time hearing his first name coming from Hotch also flooded him with a feeling of safety and warmth. He hesitantly opened his mouth with the full intention of confessing, but no words would come. The best he could do was study his shoes and nod his head.

"Where is it?" Hotch grimly asked.

The younger man indicated his messenger bag, "in there."

Hotch flipped the bag open, reached inside and produced the oddly-shaped watch. He carefully studied the different nobs protruding from the device. Sliding a scrutinizing glance over to Reid, he gave the young man a hard look. The younger man struggled to maintain eye contact, but ultimately dropped his eyes to the floor again. He felt completely ashamed that he had kept this secret from Hotch. His head shot up at Hotch's next words.

"I don't suppose there's any question as to why we're here, so let's take care of this matter. Slacks and underwear off, please."

These words never failed to make Reid's mouth go dry. Automatically, he obeyed. He carelessly folded his trousers over once and placed them on top of the dresser. The underwear was harder to do away with. He tried to swallow, but his mouth still felt like the Sahara. Resigning himself to his fate, he sighed, jerked them down and distractedly placed them next to the slacks.

Hotch settled himself in the middle of the small bed and waited. Reid would decide for himself when he was ready and position himself accordingly. The young man never delayed for long as he wanted to get this over with even more than Hotch. Awkwardly, he stretched himself over Hotch's lap, grabbing a pillow to hug. Hotch helped him shift a bit to a more comfortable position, and then reached over the young man's back placing his left hand on his hip to help secure him in place. Reid reminded himself to stay still, though he knew this would be impossible by the end.

Stealing himself for the task at hand, Hotch raised his hand and sharply brought it down on his target. Reid gasped. It always surprised the young agent just how much spankings hurt. Even with an eidetic memory, he somehow always managed to forget. The older man continued the assault on his backside until it was tinted a light pink. The young man was breathing hard, trying very hard to stay quiet, but he could already feel the tears forcing their way out. He buried his face in the pillow trying to stopper the looming stream behind his eyes.

Hotch let the young man catch his breath as he reached into the top drawer of the dresser. Taking out the wooden paddle he stored there, he finally began his inevitable lecture, "Spencer, your actions today were absolutely unacceptable." He brought the paddle down five times before continuing. Reid was beginning to sniffle between his gasps. As always it was the scolding more than the spanking that caused Reid to lose his fight for composure.

Hotch punctuated the rest of the reprimand with the paddle. "Setting off smoke bombs in a crowded building was dangerous, Spencer. Someone could have gotten hurt in the panic. _You_ could have gotten hurt, young man." Under Hotch's firm grasp, Reid was beginning to wriggle and cry out. Hotch reaffirmed his grip and went on, "breaking into a sealed safety deposit box for any reason, even if it was yours, was asinine. And including a known criminal in your plan? You're a federal agent, Spencer." The boy was sobbing unabashedly now as he crossed and uncrossed his legs trying to avoid the paddle. "Did none of this cross your mind? If Garcia and Morgan weren't watching out for you, you'd be in jail now. Do you understand just how serious this is, young man?"

Through the intense sobs, Reid cried out, "Yesss, Sirrrr. I'm ssssorrrrryyyyy. Pleeeaaaasse! I'm so sssssorrrrrryyyyyyy."

Hotch put the paddle aside and waited for the sobs to quiet down a bit before he unsympathetically said, "stand up, young man." This was unexpected as normally the spanking would be over now. As Reid shakily climbed off Hotch's lap, the older man stood, "your actions today were beyond anything I would ever expect from you. You are typically far more responsible than this, and I can only imagine it had something to do with Neal's influence. I expect you to think through the consequences of your actions _before_ following through with such a ridiculous plan." Reid sniffled and tried to rub the stinging out of his hindquarters as Hotch pulled out the chair from under the desk. He turned it so the back of the chair rested against the desk, then stepped back ordering, "Bend over and put your hands on the seat."

Reid's eyes went wide. This was unexpected, but he thought he had some idea of what Hotch was intending. His fears were confirmed as Hotch unbuckled his belt. Reid wasn't sure his backside could take any more, but he had no say in the matter. Both men fully understood their roles at this moment, and Reid's was quite simply to obey. This however, did not stop the young man from trying to plead with Hotch with his soft brown eyes. It did him no good. Hotch simply held his gaze and confidently waited for compliance. Realizing his puppy dog eyes weren't going to work this time, he gulped and got into position.

Hotch took his stance and declared, "Spencer, you are a valuable member of this team." Reid understood that when Hotch used the word 'team' he meant 'family'. "Losing you would hurt us all. I will give you one stroke for each member of the team. I want you to call out one name with each as a reminder of who all you affect when you chose to act so rashly." With this he let the first land squarely across the young man's bottom.

Reid yelped but didn't hesitate to answer, "Y-you, Hotch. It affects you."

Without clemency, Hotch let fly with the second. Again Reid yelped and exclaimed, "Morgan," and started to cry in earnest again. With the third, he sobbed out, "Garcia!" On the fourth it was, "Emily!" And the fifth, through racking sobs, he bawled out, "Rossi!" With the final stroke, the young man screeched and fell to his knees in front of the chair. He laid his head on his folded arms and wept uncontrollably.

Hotch knelt beside him and laid a comforting hand on the nape of the boy's neck. Without saying a word, he allowed him to cry for several minutes. As the sobs began to quiet though, Hotch gently, but quite seriously uttered, "Tell me, Spencer. Who is the other member of this team you could have hurt with your decisions today?"

Still too distraught to speak, Reid didn't even try to lift his head to answer. He was working very hard at gaining some composure here. Hotch simply waited, still maintaining physical contact with the distressed young man. He eventually quieted down to labored breathing and sniffles, so Hotch encouraged him to sit up and face him. Reaching up to the desk, he retrieved the box of tissues and said, "Spencer, sit up please." The young man slowly did as he was told. His face was completely wet as he took the tissue from Hotch. He blotted his eyes, noisily blew his nose, then grabbed a second tissue and scrubbed at his face.

Reid felt miserable and ashamed. He did not feel he deserved any kindness at this moment. And he did not want to admit out loud that he too was important to this team, but he knew Hotch would make him say it. The young man took a deep jagged breath, and then unwillingly mumbled, "It's me."

His answer was almost inaudible, and it certainly was not enough to meet Hotch's standards. As gently as before, the older man said, "I'm sorry, but that's not good enough." A bit more sternly he continued, "Look at me, young man, and tell me who the other important member of this team is."

Reid almost began crying again. Hotch was really going to make him say it. He scrunched his eyes together willing away the tears, gulped hard, and finally made eye contact. As hard as it was, he knew he had to say it, "I'm the other member . . . " He revised this at the warning look he got from the older man, "important member of this team." Keeping the tears away was impossible now. The young man started crying again, and this time Hotch pulled him closer wrapping his arms around him while he cried.

As he began to recover, Reid sniffled out, "I'm s-sorry, Hotch. What I did was stupid. It'll never happen again. I promise."

Hotch didn't need this apology, but he knew the kid needed to say the words. "I know you won't, spencer. And I hope that next time something like this comes up, you'll come to me for help, no matter how busy I am."

Reid emphatically nodded his head, "I will, Hotch."

Hearing the doorbell ring, Hotch stood up and handed the young man another tissue, "I ordered Chinese. Come down and join me when you're ready." Spencer again nodded his head and Hotch went to pay for the food.

They ate in front of the television, watching nothing in particular. Reid didn't eat much. He never did after he was punished, but Hotch prodded him along. The young man occasionally sucked in a ragged breath, but seemed to be recovering normally.

At 8pm Hotch turned to Reid who looked at him with pleading eyes. Hotch usually sent him to bed early on these nights, but he was never ready. He wasn't much one for watching television, but the young man found he enjoyed the unaccustomed company.

Instead, Hotch pulled Reid's mystery box out from beside the couch and placed it on the coffee table. Reid met the older man's eyes with confusion. Hotch said, "go get that watch of yours. Let's see if this thing works." Reid's eyes lit up, and he nearly ran for the watch. He had been waiting for this moment all day. In the bedroom he grabbed the watch, then stopped. What if there was something inside? What if Hotch reported it? He couldn't let his mother endure an investigation into her family. It would destroy her. Quickly formulating a simple plan, Reid returned to the living room.

He sat on the couch opposite Hotch and carefully gathered the box into his lap. Finding the nob that seemed to fit the peculiar notch at the bottom of the box, he inserted it and gently twisted. Nothing happened. He double checked that the nob was fully inserted and twisted a little harder this time. There was a soft click and the lid seemed to lift a fraction. Turning the box back over, Reid slowly lifted the lid open toward him. He looked cautiously inside and his face turned to one of confused relief, "it's empty." But before turning the box so Hotch could see, he stealthily slipped two fingers in and palmed the small wooden chip – the only denizen of the velvet lined box. After handing the box to Hotch he slipped the chip into his pocket to inspect it later.

Going into supervisor mode for a moment, Hotch asked, "Hmm. What do you make of this, Spencer?"

The younger man shrugged his shoulders and answered, "It came from my mom." There was really nothing more that needed to be said.

The two men sat in comfortable silence watching a nature program for another hour, then Hotch clicked off the television and said, "bedtime, Spencer."

He knew there was no way out of being sent to bed now, so the young man merely nodded his head and went to his bedroom. He didn't dare take out the chip now in case Hotch showed up. He would have to wait until the morning. He dressed for bed, shut the light out and smiled as the nightlight Hotch had put there for him gave its glow to the room.

**XOXOXOXO**

**Thanks for reading! Hope that filled in the gaps for many of you. Please, please, please let me know what you think. It really does keep me writing, even in my busiest times (like right now). **


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